


Turnabout Is Fair Play

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Director of SHIELD Tony Stark, Hydra Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not an Unhappy Ending, Superior Iron Man, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 15:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19065886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: Steve Rogers has a job that only Tony Stark can finish. Too bad his own Tony is comatose, but that's what he has the Cosmic Cube for: he'll just find another Tony to help. Or two.





	Turnabout Is Fair Play

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Curious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064563) by [dirigibleplumbing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing). 



> This is my fic for the 2019 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Bang challenge! Big thanks to the mods <3
> 
> I was so lucky to claim art by [dirigibleplumbing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing)! They were the best partner I could've wished for and I immensely enjoyed all the brainstorming. The art is _fantastic_ and you can see it here: [ao3 link](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/cap_ironman_2019_RBB/works/19064563) | [tumblr link](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/185318801737/art-for-team-yearning-of-the-2019-capim-reverse). Comment or reblog to let them know it's great :)
> 
> Also, thanks to my beta [runningondreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams) for being a supportive angel, basically. And for the title XD 
> 
> The alternative tags list is as follows: Hydra Cap and SIM Tony are both here and it's what you could expect.
> 
> A serious note about the warnings, though: there is one threesome scene and it's on the noncon end of "really extremely dubcon"; if you're uncomfortable with it, you can skip it--you'll be safe after the next scene break. (It's the only explicit scene in this fic.)

There is no warning: one moment, Tony’s reading a report, trying not to _feel_ as he reads about another agent who lost his life on his orders, and the next there’s a sick feeling of the world twisting around him, _through_ him. Momentarily torn between two reactions—the instinct to call the armour to himself and trying to shut all the Extremis processes at once in case it got compromised again—Tony doesn’t have time to decide. Everything goes black.

When he comes to, everything is too bright, his vision full of whiteness and dark shadows stark against it. His headache, an ever-present side-effect of overusing Extremis, flares up, and Tony screws his eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain.

“Lights off,” someone orders in an impossible, all too familiar voice.

 _Vision issues; auditory hallucinations_ , Tony catalogues. It’s not _new_ , even if he’d hoped he wouldn’t experience it again. His eyes still closed, he realises he’s lying down on something _soft_ , like a mattress, and—and this is the really dangerous thing—that his head is _silent_. There’s nothing under the headache: no awareness of his armour waiting nearby, no humming of all the wireless networks, no uplink to his satellites; not even data about his own body.

It’s like someone switched Extremis off. But that’s impossible. He’d heard— _him_. That’s Extremis playing tricks on him, like before. 

He can feel the lights being dimmed through his eyelids, and so he opens his eyes again, needing all the information he can get on his situation. He winces again, his headache not giving up that easily, but he doesn’t close his eyes this time. Instead he looks, and he looks, and—

It can’t be. It _can’t_.

“Tony, breathe,” Steve says, his voice gentle and his eyes impossibly blue and _caring_ , and Tony resigns himself to the fact that it’s not real.

A dream, clearly, and a good one at that, which means waking up will hurt that much worse.

He stares at Steve, at his unfamiliar uniform, at the new reinforced parts, at how Tony’s almost sure just from seeing the fabric that it’s bulletproof. This dreamt up Steve would not bleed out at the courthouse steps. In his dream, Tony made him _safe_. 

He could never be good enough in reality. 

There’s a touch on his hand, careful and light and familiar. Steve had never touched him the way Tony had hoped he would, but their friendship was a tactile one all the same: Tony with one arm around Steve’s shoulders as they walked to lunch, Steve hugging him after work or gently shaking him awake when he fell asleep in his workshop; Steve’s fist connecting with Tony’s jaw as Tony betrayed everything they stood for.

What if he never wakes up? A coma in which he dreams of a Steve who doesn’t hate him sounds like a good thing.

“Tony,” Steve says again, and this time he touches his cheek, running his thumb under Tony’s eye; belatedly, Tony realises he’s crying. “This is real. I am here. And I don’t hate you.”

“Right,” Tony says, too content in the dream to want to argue, too terrified of waking up to risk getting upset. “Just—just stay like that until I wake up.”

Steve shakes his head. “This is real,” he repeats, “and I need you.”

Tony doesn’t even mind the headache. He knows the words are false, and he still commits them to his memory. Extremis gives him perfect recall: every blow Steve’s dealt him; a high-quality account of him falling down as the shots sounded in the air—Tony wasn’t even there but so many cameras were—and when he wakes up, hopefully all of this, too.

Steve sighs next to him. “What _wouldn’t_ a dream-me do, then?”

 _Kiss me_ , Tony thinks, because even his own imagination doesn’t go that far. Steve raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued, and Tony realises his own dream self is pretty out of it, saying things he doesn’t mean to.

“Not an issue,” Steve mutters, and then he’s leaning down, no hesitation in his moves at all. He presses his lips to Tony’s, and Tony thinks _okay, that’s it, his brain can clearly be that creative_ , and then he feels Steve smile against his mouth and he _kisses_ him, kisses him for real, like he means it, like he _wants_ it, licks into Tony’s mouth and all but steals the breath from him, and—

It’s impossible. It’s too impossible. It’s beyond anything Tony could ever make up. 

It’s real.

It can’t be.

He clutches at Steve’s arms, hard, needing to feel him, and this time he knows he’s crying when Steve ends the kiss but doesn’t really move further than a few inches away, and he hears his own voice breaking as he says, “ _It wasn’t worth it_ ,” because if this is real, then Steve _needs to know_. 

“It wasn’t worth it,” he repeats, desperate and shaken.

Steve’s arms surround him, keeping him close, safe and warm and _held._ Steve’s hand is on top of Tony’s head, a calming weight. He doesn’t budge against Tony’s shivering and crying, just takes it all in, infinitely patient and _good_ in the way Tony never could be. 

He kisses Tony’s eyelids, and he whispers, “I know,” and then, “I forgive you.”

Tony’s never, not in his wildest dreams, even thought to beg Steve’s forgiveness: it was impossible and he didn’t deserve it; no matter what he did, he’d never make up for his crimes and lies.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve’s saying into his ear. “We’re okay.”

***

Later, Steve leads Tony out of the room he woke up in, through nondescript corridors and into a bedroom. Before Tony can ask, Steve kisses him again, less gentle than before, more driven. His hands grasp at Tony like it’s _Steve_ who has to assure himself Tony’s there, and Tony doesn’t get it at all but he kisses back all the same, never one to refuse Steve anything he can give him. 

Steve undresses him as he walks them both to the bed, efficient and never stumbling—the perfect strategist even here, it seems. He’s not hesitant at all, but he’s patient and unhurried. Tony knows exactly how strong Steve is, but he never uses it against him here. He’s careful when he stretches Tony, never making him uncomfortable, and then he fucks him, fast but not painful. Tony clings to him and gasps his name and he might be crying again, overwhelmed with emotions, but he’s not sure, because it’s _Steve_ and everything else loses meaning.

He falls asleep in Steve’s arms, just another thing he’d never let himself dream he could have.

***

“I’m sorry,” Steve says when Tony opens his eyes. 

He blinks, because _Stevestevesteve—_ memories kick in, but not before Tony grabs at Steve’s arms to make sure he’s really real. 

“Not a dream,” Steve mutters.

Tony lets out a sigh of relief. “What was that before?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats. “I—you must be so confused. I feel like I’ve taken advantage of you.”

Tony shakes his head. Steve’s not making any sense. “You’d never take advantage of me,” Tony says. 

Steve smiles at him, a quick thing, and if there’s something dark in his expression, well, Tony must’ve seen wrong. Steve gets up, and Tony reaches after him, not wanting to let him go.

“I need a shower,” Steve tells him. “I won’t be a minute.”

Tony nods, but when the bathroom door closes after Steve, he finds he can’t breathe. He digs his fingernails into his palm, hard, because _what if Steve doesn’t come back out_ , what if _he’s not here_ , it’s all just an illusion, _what if—_

“Tony. Hey, Tony.” Steve’s kneeling on the bed, a towel around his hips, and he’s shaking Tony by his shoulders. “You okay?”

Tony swallows. Steve’s there. He didn’t disappear. It’s still real. “Never better,” he says.

Steve stays in the bathroom as Tony takes his shower, ostensibly to shave; Tony’s grateful. He puts on Steve’s clothes later, soft and too big, a big star on his chest so that no one could doubt whose t-shirt it is. 

He’s not prepared for Steve to say, “I know exactly how you feel.”

Dread sets in Tony’s bones at his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Steve sighs, his eyes set on Tony’s face like he’s trying to memorize it. “My Tony is gone,” he says, his voice breaking. “He—”

Tony’s eyes widen. 

Steve inhales and exhales slowly. “Ultron,” he says at last. “He won.”

Tony shakes his head. “You’re here.” Ultron couldn’t have won as long as Steve kept on going.

“A small resistance,” Steve mutters. “He sided with Hydra, they’re everywhere outside. And Tony . . . Tony didn’t make it.”

Tony catches Steve’s hand in his. “Is that why I’m here?” he asks. Steve clearly wasn’t surprised, the contrary, so Tony knows it’s not just a happy accident he’s travelled from his own world. 

Steve nods. “I knew—I knew we couldn’t defeat them on our own. Without Tony Stark.” The amount of faith in his voice hurts. “I just—I couldn’t prepare for what seeing you would feel like.”

He talks like loves Tony the way Tony loves him. Like he _needs_ him, and not just to save the world.

Tony’s projecting.

He waits for Steve’s next words, he waits for him to ask Tony to build him a weapon to save his world, already knowing he’ll agree and do whatever Steve wants him to even as everything inside him screams. 

But Steve just holds Tony’s hand stronger. “We have a pendrive,” he says. “It’s the key to defeating Ultron. But no one can decipher it. I don’t—I won’t ask you to fight for us, never, but . . .”

Shame colours Tony’s cheeks red. _Of course_ Steve wouldn’t have asked him for weapons. _Of course_.

His throat tight, he nods.

He still can’t access Extremis, but he decides against asking Steve about it. Steve _hates_ the enhancile. Tony can run scans on himself while trying to decipher the device Steve mentioned.

 _Keeping secrets already, Stark_ , he tells himself, but it’s for the best. He won’t worry Steve for no reason . . . and, much as he loathes to admit it, if Ultron is wreaking havoc in this world, then maybe Extremis _not_ being online is a good thing.

“There is one thing I need to ask,” Tony says after a while. “I think I know, but—this isn’t another universe, is it, Steve? This is my future.”

Steve’s hands on Tony’s spasm once, which is answer enough. “I hoped you wouldn’t ask.”

Tony smiles sadly. “You feel like my Steve. You feel like home. I thought you were _dead_. So if you come back, and if I die trying to protect you . . . I can’t imagine a better way to go.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve snaps. “I want you _by my side_ , not making heroic sacrifices. I—” his voice breaks and he looks away. 

“What about the others?” Tony asks.

“They’re not _you_ ,” Steve says. He looks down. “We were separated. I know there was another underground resistance group in Las Vegas, but I haven’t heard from them in weeks.” He pulls Tony in closer, his arms around his midsection.

God, _why_ hadn’t Tony foreseen this? Why had he let his friends fall to Ultron? The least he can do is try and fix this mess now, but he doesn’t even know how much of the world even _remains_ to be fixed.

Tony Stark, ladies and gentlemen: the man who’s never enough.

***

The tiny thumb drive Steve presents Tony with doesn’t look different to a hundred other such devices Tony’s got in his own lab. The LED on it doesn’t blink ominous, Ultron-y red when Tony connects it to a computer. It’s perfectly ordinary up until Tony tries to access its content. 

Steve wasn’t kidding about encryption.

Tony likes a challenge, but he feels like he’s missing a limb. Extremis makes everything so much easier; he’s come to rely on it. _Dangerous_ , he chides himself. He bites on his lower lip, wondering how best to approach it, and then he nods to himself. He codes a basic program to poke at the decryption, get a better sense of the structure, while making sure he won’t trigger any auto-destruction mechanisms. Running it will take a while.

The room Tony’s in isn’t really an engineering workshop, just a shielded room equipped with state-of-the-art computers that Steve swore were Ultron-safe. Hopefully whoever was working on the drive before Tony had gotten at least that much right. He can’t do a lot about Extremis like this, without his own specialised lab: no scanning machines, no Extremis-enabled armour to try and reboot his own system. Still, Extremis had rewired his body, so Tony can try to jump-start it. A low-voltage shock might just do the trick. 

He’s stripping a cable of insulation when Steve walks in, holding a cup of coffee, and frowns at him. “What’re you doing?”

Tony grins at him sheepishly, caught. “My Extremis has been offline ever since I got here.” No point trying to hide it now, and . . . he really doesn’t like lying to Steve.

Steve’s frown deepens. He sets the coffee down next to Tony’s keyboard. “I’d say that’s a good thing under the circumstances.”

Tony sighs. “Having it online would make cracking this drive so much easier, Steve, you can’t—”

“What I _can’t_ do is watch you get under his control again,” Steve interrupts. His eyes are trained on Tony and he’s very, very serious. “You _know_ Ultron can use something like Extremis against you.”

“I know he’s here,” Tony argues. “I can prepare myself—if only Extremis worked—”

Steve puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders, leans his forehead against Tony’s. “Please don’t do that to me,” he whispers. “Don’t risk yourself. _Stand with me_.”

Tony closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of Steve’s breath on his face. “If I crack this—if I manage to help you,” he starts.

“You will,” Steve says with absolute certainty.

“If I do,” Tony continues, “I’ll have to go back to my time, won’t I? And _you’re not there_.”

“I will be,” Steve answers. “Not immediately. But I’ll be back for you, Tony. I told you this is your future. I’m sorry it’s not a brighter one.”

“It’s not your fault.” _It’s Tony’s_. But Steve’s alive. He has to focus on that. Steve’s alive, and he needs Tony’s help. He doesn’t need Tony to self-sabotage, just to read one thumb drive for him. How hard can it be?

He nods to himself and pulls away from Steve, even though it feels like pulling his heart out of his chest. “I’ll be careful,” he promises. “And I’ll tell you how to destroy Ultron.”

Steve’s smile is weirdly distant. He raises the cup again and offers it to Tony. “I know how you always complain when you have to work without caffeine.”

Tony takes a sip and winces at how bitter it is. He likes his coffee dark, but that’s something else. Steve must see his expression, because he sighs. “Sorry. End of the world supply isn’t the best.”

Of course. Tony downs the rest of it, because bad coffee is better than no coffee, and he stretches his arms. He glances at the screen, but his scan is only at forty percent. “Sorry,” he says. “This will take a while.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve answers, but Tony knows it’s not.

***

Something’s wrong.

Yesterday, Tony was still reeling from being transported through time and seeing Steve again—and okay, he’s _still_ amazed at that, never will cease to be—so he put the irregularities down to his exhaustion and emotions. He doesn’t have this excuse now, though, and he has to face it.

The encryption on the drive is starting to look familiar.

Tony puts his head in his hands as he thinks. He doesn’t like the implications here. Is Steve not telling him everything? He said Tony died, that he lost to Ultron, but . . . What if Ultron had managed to control Tony instead and Steve was trying to spare Tony by not telling him the truth?

It’s Tony’s algorithms on the drive, even if it’s updated from the ones he uses currently. 

Maybe he should add a self-destruction mechanism to his own code, bury it deep in the Extremis network. Never let himself be used against his friends again.

He doesn’t want to keep going. Stupidly and naively, he _doesn’t_ want to decrypt it and learn just how much he’ll fail in his duty as an Avenger. 

_It won’t change anything. It’s done, Stark. Face it_.

He breathes, in and out, in and out. He thinks of Steve, miraculously back, alive, and he steels himself. He owes it to him to do this.

And really, is Tony even surprised he ended up hurting his friends again?

Faster, now that he recognises the code, he keeps going.

***

He’s almost done when Steve comes to him with a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of water. 

God, Tony wants to live in the illusion just for a moment longer.

Steve offers him a sandwich and he accepts it, taking a bite and chewing carefully. “I’m close,” he admits when he swallows.

“I knew you could do it,” Steve tells him, stroking his free hand up Tony’s cheek.

“Yeah.” Tony looks down. Of course Steve had known. It was Tony’s tech he was decrypting. 

“Finish tomorrow,” Steve tells him. “You look tired.”

Tony looks at him with wide eyes. “But—”

“Tony,” Steve tells him gently. “Things won’t get any worse. I don’t need you running yourself exhausted.”

“I—okay.”

 _Selfish_ , he thinks, _you shouldn’t_ . . .

But if his role ends here, this is his last chance to just spend time with Steve. Tony’s always been an addict.

He pushes the plate with the food away, curls his fingers in Steve’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss. He’s desperate, trying to imprint the sensation of Steve’s lips on his in his memory forever. 

Steve carries him back to the bedroom, but they don’t make it to the bed; instead Steve fucks him against the wall, fast and intense like he too is thinking of Tony leaving and trying to make them both forget.

***

“Give me two or three hours,” Tony tells Steve, which isn’t exactly true. He’ll need an hour tops, and that’s if something goes wrong now, but he doesn’t think he could do it with Steve watching him. He’ll surprise him when he’s done instead. 

Steve walks him back to his computers and leaves him there with _good luck_ whispered against his lips.

Tony takes a deep breath and finished the decryption.

***

 _It can’t be_.

Tony’s own holographic form is looking at him with worry, like he knows what Tony’s thinking, what he’s _feeling—_ and he probably does, too, because Tony can recognize the difference between Ultron’s inventions and his own consciousness made AI, and Ultron didn’t have a hand in _this_.

Steve, though.

 _Steve_.

Tony’s shaking. He’s crying. He doesn’t know how he’s _not_ screaming. He feels sick. He’s—he’s—

“I’m sorry,” Tony’s AI says. “But you can’t break down now.”

 _How_ , Tony wants to ask, _how_ can he go on knowing that everything’s been a lie, and a lie that he willingly walked into—Ultron siding with Hydra, really? No one there but Steve to talk to Tony? _Of course_ he’s done something to Extremis, he didn’t want him to find out the truth—he kissed Tony, how could Tony believe that was the real Steve?

The real Steve would’ve punched him instead.

“ _Tony!_ ” his AI version snaps at him. “Get a grip. Listen to me.”

Tony wipes at his eyes. He swallows the urge to hit the wall and keep hitting it until his hand is broken and bloody. He listens.

And then, when his AI self disappears, he runs, crossing the empty corridors—no Hydra agents where Tony could see, of course—and delving deeper into the building, aware Steve—no, not Steve—must have cameras around and is probably on his way to stop Tony. 

_Let him do just one thing to make it right before that_.

He gets to a door with a lockpad, finally, and enters the code as if in a daze. The door opens quietly and Tony all but falls into an empty room with what looks dangerously like a high-tech coffin in the middle of it.

 _Not a coffin, not yet_.

He pushes at the side, bringing up an interface, and types rapidly on the holographic keyboard.

He’s not fast enough.

Someone grabs him by hair and hauls him back, throws him into the wall, hard.

 _Someone_.

Steve’s eyes are cold as ice and just as disinterested. How did Tony ever believe he was real?

“So you’re not as naive as you look,” he says, his hand at Tony’s throat restricting his air.

“What did you hope for?” Tony gasps out. “A way to stop my AI version?”

“That’s none of your concern anymore,” Steve says.

“You’ll _never_ win,” Tony manages to let out, black points dancing in his vision.

“Haven’t I won already?” Steve asks him, and he kisses him even as he puts more pressure on Tony’s neck.

Everything goes black.

***

Tony’s systems warn him about a forced teleportation attempt, the automatic blocking fields kicking in, but they’re of no use, which provides him with _different_ information even as he can feel the world stretching around him in a way it was never meant to around him, his senses going into overload. His systems are, obviously, the very best there are; there aren’t many means that would be able to just force through them this fast. 

Specifically, the Cosmic Cube is the most likely cause, seeing how the Space Gem is out of service thanks to Steve.

He’s trying to get Extremis to scan the disturbance, but there’s something off; his own interface seems to be far away, his thoughts slow like those of a normal, inferior being— _nothing_.

His eyes snap open and he sits up. For a moment everything’s too bright and he doesn’t see who exactly pushes him back down, firmly but gently. Tony decides to go with that for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” a familiar voice asks, so full of worry it has to be fake.

Not that Tony’s one to judge by feelings, obviously, but if Steve Rogers were near him, he’d greet him with a punch and not a question about his well-being. A Skrull, then, possibly; a theory aided by the fact that Tony’s fully conscious and _can’t reach Extremis at all_. 

He’s not in the mood for mind games.

“Who are you?” he growls as his eyes adjust and Steve’s face comes into his sight. Curious, that: he’s young and strong again, beautiful the way Tony remembers and just as uselessly _good_ . . . No, something’s wrong here.

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he says. “The same as always.” Again, a bit of wrongness in the way he says the words. “Not a Skrull, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

A Skrull _would_ be more careful. The beats that sound off just wouldn’t be there. The emulation would be ideal. 

Before Tony can answer, Steve raises one corner of his mouth in a smile. “I am from your future, though.”

Tony snorts. “Is this a role reversal universe? Will you show me new fantastic tech while we’re at it?”

“I was hoping you’d help me solve a problem, actually,” Steve replies. 

That confirms he was in fact plucked out of his very nice timeline—doomed to unravel in an incursion sooner or later—on purpose . . . So they survived those, clearly; Tony’s plan must’ve worked. 

He tries to sit up again. Steve doesn’t stop him this time. “I will need a better proof than your word,” he says.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Would I lie to you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony replies bluntly. He’s no longer his old inferior, pathetic self; he can see his past obsession with Steve for what it was. 

Steve smiles at him; it looks dangerous. He leans into Tony’s space until his lips are almost touching Tony’s ear.

“Hail Hydra,” he whispers.

Tony can’t quite stop a gasp escaping his lips. He covers is by laughing. “ _Really_ ,” he says. “The future is certainly _interesting_.”

“Are you going to fight me?” Steve asks, his voice sweet as if he were saying, _Are you going to have dinner with me?_

Whatever’s going on here—whether it’s mind control or an alternate universe after all, even though Tony doesn’t think Steve’s lied so far—this Steve had the power to pull him out of his timeline and disable his suit for the time being. Tony’s not interested in antagonising him on principle.

“That would be dreadfully boring, don’t you think?” Tony asks back. “And you’ve _just_ made me curious. Not many people manage that.”

Steve’s dropped his mask. He’s standing with his back straight, like always, but his posture is different. The Steve that Tony knows used to cover his strength, downplay it outside of a fight. The Steve in front of him looks like a predator.

Tony’s not prey.

“Let’s talk over wine, shall we?” he asks. 

Steve can’t quite cover his surprise, his eyebrows raising.

Tony tilts his head. “You’ve said you’re from my future.”

Steve recovers quickly. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms in your timeline, are we?” 

Hardly, but Tony wonders what happened between his today and this Steve’s today. A terrible suspicion that he’s been forced to revert to his previous, pathetic self dawns within him. That’s something he should learn about to prepare for and stop it from ever happening. 

Tony stands up. He’s only dizzy for a moment and he thinks he didn’t let it show. He looks at Steve expectantly. “Well?”

Steve chuckles. “Drinks, then,” he says and offers Tony his arm.

Tony takes it with no hesitation.

He stays alert and memorises the path, but Steve doesn’t seem to be leading him astray just yet, and anyway, he certainly wouldn’t need to trick Tony to overpower him at the moment. Once Tony gets Extremis back, this will change, but for now he kinda has to take Steve at face value. The elevator takes them up, all the way to the roof garden. Two guards are there, dressed in Hydra green. 

“Out, both of you,” Steve orders. “Get the kitchen to send us wine. Preferences?” he asks Tony.

“Something red. Rioja?”

Tony walks to the railing and looks down. He raises an eyebrow. “Not exactly subtle.”

“It’s not meant to be.” Steve stands next to him and gazes down on the streets, Hydra flags blowing in the wind. “We’re strong. We don’t need to hide.”

The view is shocking in a way Tony hadn’t really expected. It drives it home that what Steve’s telling him _is_ the truth. Steve Rogers, Captain America: a Hydra agent with the world at his feet. It’s . . . _wrong_ in a way Tony doesn’t care to analyse. He doesn’t care for Steve and he can agree that the normal people need someone to steer their lives for them, but this is just crude. Not the way one should go about ruling their inferiors. 

At least the wine, when it arrives, is exquisite.

***

“ _Why_ did you bring me here?” Tony asks much later.

Steve’s sitting next to him, seemingly loose and relaxed, but Tony’s not fooled. Half of a bottle of wine isn’t enough to influence a supersoldier. The question makes him tilt his head and level an appraising look at Tony. 

“You are dead here,” he says after a moment.

“Oh, did you miss me?” Tony mocks.

Steve’s expression is . . . interesting. Something to note for later. But he just says, “I could use your skills.”

“What makes you thin I’d be willing to lend them to you?” Tony asks back.

Steve’s look grows cold, any pretence of relaxation gone in an instant. “I could _make you_.”

Tony probably shouldn’t consider the threat to be quite so hot, but he _never_ expected Steve Rogers to be like _that_. Sure, the man he’d known wasn’t the paragon of virtues everyone saw, but he also wasn’t trying to rule the world.

“I’m almost tempted to see you try,” he shoots back, never one to back down.

Steve leans towards him and cups his cheek, intent burning in his eyes as his thumb slides down towards the edge of Tony’s mouth. 

“Trying to seduce me into compliance?” Tony drawls, amused. His tongue darts out to lick at Steve’s finger.

“I don’t see you objecting,” Steve says.

Of course Tony isn’t. His opinions on Steve aside, who in their right mind would reject a super soldier? He gets up, just to straddle Steve’s thighs instead, and kisses him, strong and insistent.

“Right here?” Steve asks against his mouth as Tony’s hands roam over him finding out how to open his uniform.

“Who started it?” Tony nips at Steve’s ear.

Steve stands up, seemingly unbothered by Tony’s weight; Tony wraps his legs around his waist. He thinks that Steve wants to go back to the elevator and inside, but no; he just sets Tony on the table and proceeds to kiss him senseless.

Never into _compliance_ , but he’ll let himself get seduced all right.

***

Hours and a follow-up several hours of an uneasy sleep later, Tony emerges from the bathroom, naked, to find Steve sitting at a table set for breakfast. His current headache has more to do with Extremis than low blood sugar, but he won’t say no to caffeine.

“How considerate,” he says.

Steve turns to him, his breath catching briefly. Tony smirks at him as he sits down and reaches for a cup of coffee.

One sip, and he spits it out.

“ _Ah_ ,” he says. 

“Not to your taste?” Steve’s voice is flat.

“Who’s working for you?” Tony asks. “Edible Extremis suppressants are a _curious_ idea.”

Steve shrugs languidly. “I didn’t expect you to sense it.”

Tony scoffs. It’s obvious, the coffee’s bitterness not strong enough to cover the weird taste, and with his systems still off, he’s on guard more than usual. The low, stabbing pain behind his eyes suggests Extremis will reboot itself soon enough, and Tony’s not about to hinder it.

“Steve,” Tony says deceptively softly, “you might’ve brought me here, but you _don’t_ want me to become your enemy.”

“Aren’t you always?” 

“And here I thought this was a second chance.” Tony levels a look at him. “Force me to drink it; what will you get? Certainly not my help.”

“You would build a new armour just to get back at me,” Steve muses. His eyes are still cold, dangerous. Tony knows he can’t actually fight him right now, not here, not without any tech.

“If you cross me,” Steve says conversationally, “I will make you pay.”

“Is a villainous monologue to follow?” Tony asks. “Because you almost sounded like Doom there.”

Steve’s on him in an instant, his hand at Tony’s throat. “I am _nothing_ like him,” he hisses. 

Tony meets his gaze straight on. “Prove it.”

Steve lets him go. “Get dressed,” he snaps. “I’ll take you to a laboratory.”

Tony does, but he drinks Steve’s coffee first. That one wasn’t spiked, at least, the taste perfect.

***

 _Find me the Cosmic Cube_ , Steve said, because apparently it was just one shard of it that brought Tony here.

Interesting, that, and something that Tony could work with later. For now, he’s idly browsing through the captured frequencies of the radiation the Cube gives off—sadly, not the _actual_ fragment for him to scan himself . . . and utilize in other ways. That’ll come later, though. 

He’s all but vibrating inside his skin, waiting for Extremis to come back. It’s not yet functional—he can’t activate his armour—but he can feel it inside his body, the enhancile adjusting itself to him once more. 

He’s not yet testing the safety mechanisms and network options of the computer he’s allowed to use. He could, but it will be easier with Extremis and when Steve’s not observing him quite so closely. He’s not there now, but Tony’s got no doubt there are cameras in the room. 

So Tony works, or pretends to, trying not to bristle too obviously at the rather inferior work, trying to work out what Steve _really_ is about in this weird timeline.

Because Tony would bet his armour that, important as it might seem to someone else, looking for the Cosmic Cube shards is _not_ what Steve wants him for.

***

It’s like jumping into an icy cold river, when Extremis finally reboots itself. Everything becomes almost too sharp; the crystal-clear clarity of all the sensations almost overwhelming. He has to consciously suppress his armour so that it doesn’t flow over his skin, encasing him in safety. 

He sees the wireless networks and immediately downloads information about what exactly is going on in the world; most of what he learns in one second confirms what Steve said. But . . . There is something else, something that shouldn’t be there: a soft humming of Stark tech at the edge of his awareness.

He _reaches_ and slams into what feels like an iron wall. 

Still, he gets a glimpse of what’s inside: another Tony Stark, his body all but completely switched off.

 _You’re dead here_ , Steve had said: finally, a lie.

He looks through the security cameras, one after the other, quickly, the images changing in his mind like a kaleidoscope.

There: Tony Stark, again, and Tony’s almost sure it’s a different one than the one he’d found just moments ago.

Curiouser and curiouser.

This Tony is conscious, if clearly weakened. He’s obviously too thin, dark shadows underneath his eyes. There’s no RT set in his chest, and as he’s wearing a t-shirt only, Tony’s almost sure he doesn’t have a chestplate, either. 

Maybe he’d accused Steve of lying too fast. Maybe his Tony _is_ dead, and he keeps looking for another one to take his place . . . but why? And if that’s the case, is he Tony number three? Were there more?

This is not what he’d ever expect to find out. Literal skeletons in the closet—sure; a closet full of Tony Starks, not so much.

He looks through the rest of the cameras, but that’s it. One Tony Stark in a cell and one that Tony can’t actually locate who’s unconscious. 

Tony smirks to himself and maps out a path.

***

He reaches the cells without any trouble, which isn’t really difficult when he can see where all the guards are. He’s not sure where Steve is, but he figures he’s got time, and barring that, he definitely has his armour.

The other Tony is facing away from the bars, just staring at the wall when Tony arrives. 

“Why, hello there,” he drawls.

His counterpoint almost jumps; he turns around fast, his eyes wide. “You—”

Now that he’s closer, Tony feels the hum of another device. He looks down and find a metallic bracelet clasped around the other Tony’s ankle. It’s vaguely familiar: something that he didn’t experience, but read about . . . 

He scowls. “Tell me you’re not the version of myself who tried to run SHIELD.”

“You have me at disadvantage,” the other Tony says carefully. “Did Ste—he send you? Is this another trick?” He sounds tired, so very tired; broken and lost.

He’s pathetic, and Tony’s glad he can’t actually remember being him. 

“So he got you here first,” he muses to himself, “and then what?”

The other Tony frowns. “And then I found out he’s _Hydra_.”

Tony laughs at that. “And that was a deal-breaker? Isn’t he dead when you’re from? Ohhh, do you prefer him dead than evil?”

His counterpart takes an unsteady step back, as if slapped. “You’re not me,” he snarls. 

“Unfortunately enough, I am,” Tony corrects him. “Don’t worry, past me: we get better. _Superior_.”

The other Tony shakes his head. 

“I see you’re exploring,” Steve’s voice rings through the air. Tony’s past self goes white as a sheet. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Tony replies. He glances at Steve and sees him in a combat stance, shield on his arm. “Oh, come on, Steve. Do you really think I care what happens to _him_?”

“He is you,” Steve notes, but he straightens. He’s not wearing his Captain America uniform. Instead he’s in a green-and-gold formal suit, fit for the leader of Hydra. Tony doesn’t like it: his uniform fits his body much better.

“What the hell have you done to him?” the other Tony demands.

Steve chuckles. “Your change of heart wasn’t my doing, Tony.” 

Past Tony closes his fists tight. He’s shaking. “It’s the Cube, isn’t it?”

“Let’s go, Steve. I have no desire to look at him.” Tony turns towards the exit. He doesn’t wait for Steve to follow him, and he only catches up with Tony when he’s halfway down the corridor.

Interesting, what he might’ve wanted from the other Tony.

“There’s another one of me here,” Tony says without a preamble. “Show me.”

“He’s from this time,” Steve answers, “and he’s been in a coma for months, so I hardly think he’s of any interest to you.”

In a coma? Tony frowns as he accesses Extremis once more and looks for any info on himself this time. There’s a hit: pictures of yet another fight between superheroes and Tony’s own body lying motionless among the broken buildings. 

Once he gets the Cube, he’ll be able to save himself from ever becoming _that_.

They walk in silence, Steve leading him through the corridors until they make it to a big room with a table set for two standing in the middle. There’s already a glass of wine waiting for Tony.

“Spiked with your anti-Extremis mix?” Tony asks. He lets his armour cover his body now; Steve should know Tony won’t just let him do anything he wants to.

“No.” Steve sits down. “If I decide I need to disable it, I won’t _hide_ it.”

“So sincere all of a sudden,” Tony drawls. “So, that comatose me—you don’t want to wake him up?”

“Why would I want that?” Steve asks calmly. _Liar_ , Tony thinks.

“Because you seem to be collecting other versions of me to make up for him,” Tony tells him bluntly.

“Is that what you think it is,” Steve says without any inflection.

“ _Tell me I’m wrong_ ,” Tony demands. He sits opposite Steve, raises the glass, but doesn’t taste it yet.

“And you?” Steve asks back. “No empathy for the younger you at all?” 

Tony scoffs. “He’s so inferior. He let himself be destroyed by _you_.”

“Not a mistake you’d make, then?” Steve’s eyes are dark. 

“What, do you prefer him?” Tony tilts his head. “Did you sleep with him too?”

“Jealous?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“ _Curious_ ,” Tony says. “I’ve always wanted to make out with myself.”

Steve’s sudden intake of breath runs loud between them. 

“An idea for later, I guess,” Tony says to himself. “Wasn’t I supposed to find you some Cube shards?”

Steve watches him, his eyes half-lidded. He’s a Steve and he isn’t; a mix that Tony’s not entirely sure how to treat. He wonders if it’s the same for Steve, who must be used to dealing with Tony’s older, weak versions. He hopes he’s a _challenge_. He wants to know what makes this Steve tick.

(He wants to know where this unease somewhere inside him at seeing Steve like this comes from.)

***

He does finish a program to scan for the Cosmic Cube worldwide, but he doesn’t run it from Steve’s computer. Instead, he reaches through Extremis, finding secure enough systems around the world that he can use for his purposes. It’s not an ideal option—if he can reach a server, it’s not secure at all—but it’s better than what Hydra has to offer under Steve’s pet scientists’ watchful eyes.

He lets his program run in the background of his consciousness and he goes to visit the other Tony again.

It’s revolting to see himself like that, but there’s something pulling him to the man.

“What do you want?” the other Tony asks when Tony sits down on outside his cell. “Going to gloat some more?”

“I wonder what I was thinking, when I was you,” Tony mutters. 

“Was it so long that you’ve forgotten?” the other Tony asks. “I wish I could.”

“That’s on you,” Tony answers and ignores his past self’s questioning look. “So what, you’ve learnt the truth and let him lock you up? My, I’ve fallen low.”

“Don’t you remember?” the other Tony sounds tormented. “He _died_. It’s—I’d have done anything—and then here he is, and he’s _Hydra_ , and _how can you be okay with that?_ ”

 _Am I_? Tony wonders.

Tony double-checks if the cameras record audio before opening his mouth again. “I don’t like what I’ve learnt of my future.”

His other self stares at him, finally showing some emotion other than broken despair. “That makes the two of us.” 

Tony huffs a laugh. “Too bad for you,” he says. “That said, my _past_ is what let me realise my potential.”

Even if all he longs to do is get his hands on the Cube and erase this pathetic mess of a man calling himself Tony Stark from the existence, Tony can’t risk it. He’s finally where he should be: at the top of the world, done playing a mere human. His past fills him with contempt, but changing it is out of the question. 

“Let’s distract him, the two of us, and I’ll get you out of here.”

“And what will that accomplish?” his old self asks in an empty voice. “He’s still—I couldn’t save him then; I can’t save him now.”

Tony can’t listen to that. Knowing what he used to be like is bad enough without witnessing how pathetic he was. “Look at it that way. Do you prefer our charming Hydra Supreme to have the Cosmic Cube, or me?”

The way the other Tony looks at him now is calculating. _Good_. He won’t his past self out-manoeuvre himself, but it might be fun. “Distract him _how_?” the other Tony asks at last. 

Tony grins at him.

***

Tony’s drinking a glass of champagne when Steve walks in, pushing the other Tony in front of himself. He stumbles, catches himself, and then _freezes_ as he looks at Tony. 

Tony toasts him with his glass. “Do you want a sip?”

The naked desire on the other Tony’s face is all too obvious, but he shakes his head all the same. He’s frowning; Tony’s pretty sure his thoughts run something like _what does it matter which one of them has the Cube_.

“You brought entertainment,” he addresses Steve. He saunters over to his past self and kisses him without any preamble, licking into his mouth as the other Tony fists his hands into his shirt and tries to push him away. Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “What, you don’t like me? Prefer Steve?”

He hands him into Steve’s waiting arms, and the other Tony fucking trembles when Steve pulls him closer. Tony catches his eye and nods at him. 

His past self’s expression closes off. When Steve leans in to kiss him, Tony bites him. He’s rewarded with a slap.

“You should be nicer to me,” Steve says. “After all, I’m a big fan. The way you ran SHIELD was very inspirational.”

A sob escapes the other Tony’s mouth.

Tony runs his hand down his back. He’s tense and clearly scared; aware he needs to be here and still hating it. That’s good, though: Steve wouldn’t believe a willing participant here. He pulls up his other self’s shirt and tosses it aside. His torso naked, Tony can count all his ribs. He really was a mess, wasn’t he?

Steve runs his hand down the other Tony’s naked chest; there’s familiarity and possession evident in the movement. Tony leans in to kiss him, enthusiastic and sure. Steve smiles against his lips. 

“Strip,” Tony tells him, and Steve raises an eyebrow, but he slides out of his clothes all the same. Tony follows suit, and that just leaves his past self still wearing trousers. Steve’s got it covered, though, as he steps forward and opens Tony’s belt with no hesitation. The man is still shivering. It just won’t do.

“We should tie him up,” Tony suggests, and Steve nods with approval. 

A quiet _no_ follows from the other Tony, but Tony just ignores him. Steve procures a length of red rope, and Tony pushes his other self to the bed, stroking his arms up and down. “I know for a fact that you like it,” he says, and then, gesturing at Steve with his chin, adds, “and _him_.”

His past self remains silent.

He doesn’t struggle as Steve binds his wrists together and then secures the rope to the bedframe. He _does_ look good in rope, Tony finds out, and yeah, cameras had told him as much, but it’s different to actually _seeing_ himself like that. 

Steve kisses him again over the past Tony’s body, his hand wrapping around Tony’s cock. Tony moans into his mouth.

“Fuck him,” Steve orders when they separate, and really, how can Tony say no to that?

He fishes for lube and prepares his past self, twisting his fingers the way he enjoys. It wins him some gasps, even as the other Tony is pulling on the rope, like he thinks there’s a way out. Tony shakes his head, kisses him, and pushes into him. His past self shivers, but he tries to relax around Tony. 

_Cube shard located_ , Extremis pings at Tony in the exact moment when Steve slides his finger into him, and Tony lets himself gasp out loud. He starts moving in his other self as Steve stretches him, the short waves of pleasure distracting him too much to establish a regular rhythm. 

It gets worse when Steve pushes into him exactly the way he likes, rough and sure of himself. Steve’s arms wrap around his waist and he bites Tony’s shoulder, and Tony barely remembers to keep fucking his past self, assaulted with sensations as he is. He does stroke his other self’s cock, the angle just _so_ , and the other Tony bites on his lower lip to stop a moan. _Good_. 

Tony comes first between them, which isn’t a surprise with Steve fucking him relentlessly, all of that supersoldier attention focused just on Tony. He only manages a few more thrusts into his past self after that, but it’s enough, and as Tony collapses on top of him, spent, Steve grabs him by his hips and finishes himself off. 

Steve brings them a washcloth, considerate, and then lies down next to Tony, looking sated. Tony’s past self’s eyes are closed, but he’s clearly still conscious, just unwilling to look at them. Tony smiles to himself. He doesn’t move to untie him, and neither does Steve.

Tony waits until Extremis confirms that Steve has in fact dozed off before getting up and heading out. Even if Steve wakes soon, a few minutes of a head start is all he needs. Steve has no idea where he’s going anyway, but him trying to stop Tony could be troublesome.

The past Tony doesn’t dare call him, too scared of waking the man lying half on top of him.

Something’s wrong with that picture, but Tony doesn’t care.

(But he does disable the Extremis-inhibiting bracelet on the other Tony’s ankle before he goes. He’s probably drugged too, but let it not be said that Tony _didn’t_ try to help even himself.)

***

There are two shards, one in Arkansas of all places, and the other east of Madrid. Tony heads for the first one. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to teleport with it, gathering the other shard before going for Hydra’s. 

The programme leads Tony to a forest and he winces at the nature surrounding him. He’d never come here out of his own free will and he suspects no one would, which explains how the shard remained hidden. It’s dark now: the sun has long since set and the tree branches are too dense for the moonlight to get through. It just makes things easier. Tony doesn’t have to dig around and look for weird frequencies: the shard is right there, shining bright blue.

Tony closes his hand around it and feels the power reverberating through his bones. 

_Come on,_ he thinks, _take me to the other one_.

The sudden change of atmosphere makes him dizzy. He blinks a few times, shakes his head to clear it, and looks around.

The sun is up. 

He’s standing in a field, traditional wind mills turning at a distance. Yet another place he wouldn’t visit. It’s all too rural for his liking. 

Soon, he tells himself. Soon he’ll get the Cube, fix his own future, and go back to sipping a drink in his swimming pool. 

He’s not alone here. And older man is coming in his direction, gesturing extensively. Tony ignores him. 

_Find me the shard_ , he thinks again, tightening his hand around the one he has. His armour sensors warn him that the shard warms up and it pulsates with light. He scans around, looking for an answering signal, and finds it on the top of the windmill. He shakes his head at the ridiculousness of it and flies up.

The two shards merge into one when Tony brings them together.

 _Two down, one to go_.

***

He finds himself facing Steve Rogers.

That’s not a surprise. 

“Have a good trip?” Steve asks him in an icy voice. The past Tony is there too, tied to a chair, his cheek split and a bruise underneath his eye.

“Fine, thanks for asking.” Tony grins at him. “In fact, I’d bet you would’ve enjoyed it too!”

He doesn’t have to look for the shard here. Steve’s holding it like a weapon. 

There’s a _tug_. Tony frowns incredulously as a part of his own armour breaks away from of him. He understands in a flash when it reforms on his other self’s arm, though, and the past Tony uses it to free himself. 

“That’s private,” Tony scolds him, not particularly worried. He’s got two of the shards, after all. He’s got enough power; the other Tony won’t defeat him in a stolen armour.

Except, he doesn’t try to attack Tony for the shards. He just aims at Steve, the repulsor in his gauntlet active. His arm is steady, but there are tears streaming down his face.

“I couldn’t save you,” he says and it’s like hearing another man talking; Tony doesn’t recognize himself at all. “But the real Steve—he’d never want _this_. He’d rather _die_ than become Hydra’s puppet. And whatever happened to him here—that’s the only way I can honour his memory.”

He fires, and then he just crumples to the ground.

He needn’t have bothered. He doesn’t hit Steve. The shards in Tony’s hands shine just as the one in Steve’s hold does, all three fragments of the Cube forced to do the same job: stop the repulsor ray before it hits Steve.

Tony might be slightly surprised at himself.

Steve swears suddenly, his shard flying out of his hand. Tony holds on to his fragments, all of his armour strength behind it, and he manages to hold them: the Cube reforms in his palms when all the fragments become one again, pushed together by the same command spoken in two voices.

“Look at that,” he says. 

“Saving the world after all?” Steve scoffs at him.

Tony holds the infinite power. “No,” he tells him. “Just you.”

 _Fix him_.

If asked, he couldn’t explain _why_ this was his first priority; why between all the things, all the wonderful, miraculous things he could accomplish, why instead of shaping the world in his image, he chose to bring the real Steve Rogers back.

He knows this: the moment the light recedes and he finds shock and pain in Steve’s face, his eyes open and honest, the nagging feelings of _wrongness_ that’s been bothering him this whole time goes away.

Curious; the things that matter in the end.

“ _Steve_?”

Ah, Tony’s past self. Another problem to solve.

“You hate me,” Tony addresses him, “but which one of us tried to kill him _again_?”

He pulls his armour back to himself; the other Tony doesn’t fight for it. His skin is ashen. He’s wobbly on his legs, and he’s facing Steve like he’s looking at a ghost.

Tony’s here to fix his future, not destroy his past.

One more mercy, then; he pulls the memories from his past self’s mind before pushing him back through the time stream. There’s self-preservation in the action, too: he’s not sure his past self wouldn’t have crawled in the bottle and drowned inside if he remembered.

He could go back himself, now, stop whatever event made him return to his inferior state. He rather thinks he will, at some point.

For now, though, there’s a _real_ Steve Rogers looking at him like his whole world is shattering into small pieces, and there’s the United States under Hydra’s rule just _waiting_ for a new leader.

Hydra will go, but Tony will provide the leadership very gladly.

“You know what, Steve? I think I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> As a reminder, the art by dirigibleplumbing has a [tumblr post](https://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/post/185318801737/art-for-team-yearning-of-the-2019-capim-reverse) if you want to reblog it. The fic also has a [tumblr post](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/185319053552/cap-im-rbb-turnabout-is-fair-play) and a [twitter post](https://twitter.com/tonytears/status/1135234770802266112).


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